


Quimellë

by an_evasive_author



Series: House of Ñolofinwë [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Light Drama, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Tyelkormo is Irissë's best friend and has been for a long time. With no other elf can one have better teaparties or adventures.So when faced with a Vala who seeks to steal her best friend away, what is a lady princess to do but fight for him and their friendship?
Relationships: Aredhel & Celegorm | Turcafinwë
Series: House of Ñolofinwë [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633537
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Sicil

In hindsight, the entire thing had been horribly unfair. Irissë knew the rules of debates... roughly. The fact that she had been given no time to prepare, no time to lay out her arguments and no warning whatsoever... Well, had it been any wonder that she had acted the way she did? Petulant? Never unladylike, of course, but close.

No.

No, it was not. She was utterly blameless.

And it had even started with such false innocence. Lulling her into safety, how rude!

There had been cake. Cake with little bits of peach and cherries, courtesy of Nelyo who had taken over the oven and indeed most of their kitchen and baked as if his life depended on it.

“Is he alright?” Irissë asked, naturally, because that was polite and because if such sudden madness resulted in cake and sweets there was always the chance she could clip off some of the results.

Tyelko had been scrubbed, she could see the hair oil still glimmering under golden light, rivalling it, and been forbidden from wandering off. In hindsight, he had complained far less about such unfairness than usually and not one attempt at sneaking off had been made.

Another piece of cake was forked mercilessly, split apart into pieces almost bite sized, devoured and then Tyelko nodded. “Haru is here,” and pointed his fork to the windows of the workshop.

Not haru Finwë strode past the window, but Mahtan with his funny beard. She had asked him once how that had happened and never gotten an answer, Irissë mused. Ainu she understood, they got flights of fancy and tacked on things they enjoyed. Wings and nictitating eyelids and beards.

But elves? Most elves did not suddenly sprout hair in their face without prompting.

So strange...

But more important than the beard--

“Oh!” Irissë called, delighted and clapped her hands. Mahtan could make such pretty things. Her grandfather-in-law could be convinced to make the most lovely of toys and trinkets if she asked nicely and pleaded a little.

* * *

If not for the beard, one could have mistaken Mahtan for Nelyo for a moment as he leaned out the window. “Stripling, come here a spell,” Mahtan called and bid his grandson closer.

Irissë followed close behind without hesitation and a carefully lifted hem of her dress to chase easier and not trip. Because why would Tyelko want her to stay behind when he could show off what he was getting?

Fëanáro was leaning over papers when both elflings skittered inside.

“We will need to have something tailored for you as well,” Fëanáro muttered.

“There are specifications. Materials, mostly. But not to worry. Mólimbë has fitted most of them before.”

“Mh,” Fëanáro hummed and pulled away from the table. “Tyelko, come here, please.”

Tyelko did, Irissë followed.

“Here,” Fëanáro continued, “Those are the sketches we have. Not much can be done about the purpose, the shapes have proven themselves effective and there is only so much finery one can work in there before a certain someone starts nagging--”

“Fëanáro,” Mahtan said and Fëanáro fell silent but looked no less annoyed.

It took her a moment to grasp just what she was looking at. Not because of the drawings, those where clean and neat and had helpful little writing in concise script. A few lines had been crossed out empathetically, re-written. As if two elves had squabbled over the fine details.

No, the problem came from the nature of the drawings.

“Why would you need daggers?” Irissë asked and crinkled her nose in disdain. Sharp things were not allowed to be played with, not that she had any interest in doing so, and to cut cakes they had a perfectly lovely set of silver cutlery. Daggers seemed so-- brutish.

And Tyelko was not brutish. Never her Tyelko. Her lips pouted and now there was not much else to use to show her puzzled disapproval. Her eyes already waggle-wiggled. Maybe her brow. Or that was too much... “Why daggers?” she asked instead once more. Those, she concluded, where neither pretty and dainty nor elegant and dignified.

“Hunting knives, actually,” Mahtan told her. “Oromë's Hunters all have their own tools,” Mahtan said. “It has been some time,” he told her wryly and grinned, “But for this I make an exception.”

“It will be our gift to you,” Fëanáro said and tussled Tyelko's hair.

“Why?” Irissë asked, flustered, and yet the first little knot had already settled in her stomach. This was... foreboding.

“That's my fault, sorry Irissë,” Tyelko told her, without even a shadow of any carelessness. "I'll start my apprenticeship with Oromë soon. And I get knives!"

"They are not to be played with, Tyelko, don't you even dare think about that!" Fëanáro snapped quickly and went to fix some of the fine writing on one of the schematics before Mahtan made to stop him.

* * *

This was all so sudden. Too sudden, her head was nearly spinning it felt like. “Why didn't you tell me before?” Irissë asked when Tyelko had decided on a set of knives and was subsequently shooed out again.

They had walked back to the table under their tree, not the tree house, but the carefully maintained willow. All thoughts of bracelets and circlets and toys had been forgotten, paled in the face of this newest revelation.

“Forgot,” Tyelko shrugged and shovelled a little more cake with the same enthusiastic joy he had before.

Irissë could not bring herself to summon her own back. “How did you manage that?” she asked instead. Not that she doubted that her smartest Tyelko could do practically anything he set his mind to. But Oromë did not appear like one who would take notice of small elves wandering around his hunting grounds. Well, unless something like, say, flooding part of it while building a dam took place. That might just do it. But surely that had not prompted Oromë to take Tyelko to be his hunter, unless he needed a reason to lure him away to throw him in the lake they had accidentally maybe created. 

“Oh,” Tyelko said. “That's easy; I met him in the woods and I asked if I could ride his deer.”

Irissë blinked. “That's it?”

“That's it,” Tyelko nodded, satisfied and folded his arms under his chin to bask in warm and golden light. “Though it's a stag, not a deer.”

“Did you get to ride it?” Because despite everything, that one was still important to ask.

Tyelkormo yawned, full and content, “Sure. I wouldn't have agreed to his offer.”

Irissë turned to look at the workshop where they made Tyelko's tools. Her ears felt heavy... She had no stag nor deer to ride and therefore nothing in the way of competition to offer.

“Issë?” Tyelko asked and startled her. He used that one so rarely and with his earnest and full attention, he blinked, cocked his head. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Irissë assured him and parted her cake with her dainty fork.

“Alright,” Tyelko said and blinked, “Do you want to play cards? I can't leave, in case they need me again. Sorry, Irissë."

Her cake tasted like bark and the hand she found herself with was dreadful. The very thought of losing Tyelko to some upstart who came trampling in on his stupid stag with his stupid knives and promises of things Irissë could never match... No. Never.

Tyelko did not yet know it, but she would fight for him. No Ainu would get to steal him away. Battle plans needed to be made and Irissë already knew who would be so lucky as to be her confidant.

She needed to talk to her father.


	2. Coivalassë

At this time, she reasoned once returned, her father would be found in, around or on his way to the large study room haru Finwë favoured for his meeting. Open to let in light and balmy breeze alike, domestic like the grand halls could never quite be. Here there was tea and seating pillows and the carpet with the fringes. Important things tended to end up there, in that room where Finwë convened.

So, it only made sense that Irissë followed suit, towards the one who would help her reach her goal. She could waltz in, be polite, dazzling naturally, ladylike request a moment of her father's time and have it slipped in before dinner.

Wonderful, perfect. All could return to as it should be and how dearly she wished that the moment had already come.

But patience now, her haruni would have said and Irissë tended to value the word of a ladylike Lady queen very highly. Alas, therefore, patience.

Come to think of it, if she was here already, she could be patiently waiting inside the room. Perhaps someone would compliment her on her dress, it was quite a lovely one after all.

One of the guard vanished through the door to announce her when Irissë asked her to. _That_ she greatly enjoyed, it made her feel very important. Because did a Lady not deserve to be the centre of attention? Of course she did and Irissë thrice over, there were shiny sequins on her dress after all.

And then at last, the door was pushed open, she was bidden to enter in all her sequin-y, glittery glory and, as a lady befitted, she strode into the room.

* * *

“What fair lady graces my court,” Finwë said, ever fondly and ever bright, sitting as he was at the very end of his table, surveying all and everything in this room, be they sitting or strutting as Irissë was. He was not alone, though he was seldom such anyway.

Ministers and their secretaries, servants flitting from hidden nooks at the edge of ones awareness, and now Irissë as well. But no atya. Very well, all the same, she would wait.

She would not have been scolded greatly if she had forewent such overt greetings. But she was a lady, one almost rivaling her mother and grandmother, the ladiest ladies, paragons to be emulated to be certain. Until then, ceaseless practice, never-tiring, always improving. So she grasped her dress, lifted the hem just enough and curtsied in what might just have been utter perfection.

“Irissë, my fair little princess, tell me, what brings you here?" Finwë asked and his smile rivaled the very light from the Trees. The world was a bright, bright place when her grandfather was happy. "We find ourselves short one member. We wait and therefore there is time.”

She could have told them that her dearest atya had both overslept and overworked himself since amil had taken Finno and Turu to their grandparents for a visit and no one had been there to order him to bed. Irissë had tried, certainly. But she had also wanted to visit Tyelko and therefore there had hardly been the time to remind him helpfully..

And he had played with littlest Arakáno just after breakfast, while Irissë had been busy selecting her dress. Then he had forgotten the time and fled as if hounded before Irissë had left to visit Tyelko.

She did not tell the assembled that, for a lady kept her peace when she knew very well that such tattling would do no good.

“I'm sure he will come soon,” Irissë said instead, diplomatically.

“I ask for patience,” Finwë said. “We will simply pass the time until then, he cannot be long now.” To Irisse, "Dear one, my lady-heart, won't you sit here with me until your father arrives? Someone to keep me company?"

"We have the time, Majesty," Ataquewen said while Irissë clambered eagerly to do as she was bidden. "Tis' not as if there is any need to rush."

"Credit to the cabinet," Finwë said and inclined his head politely before turning to offer his granddaughter his attention.

Though she was not familiar –nor particularly interested-- with these proceedings, Irissë knew them well enough by sight. The cabinet, ministers of finances, agriculture, of all manners of things, all of them offered words much the same and returned to whatever it was they were doing. Ataquewen, Irissë remembered her well enough, they had talked about the proper amount of frilly lace and pearls on one of her grandfather's celebrations, drank tea. Some read books and one wrote a letter.

"You were with Tyelko, if I remember correctly," Finwë asked. It would have been very hard indeed to forget that, because usually half the palace would know of Irissë's plans, mostly because she found it rather prudent to let everyone know. How to better share her enthusiasm with the world than that?

Irissë could not bear the thought of telling him of her worry concerning that best friend of hers. Because there were things one could tell him and the very land would bow to his will and all it would cost her was the knowledge that she had broken his heart. Finwë would not be wielded as a weapon. Her atya was a different matter.

And so Irissë beamed as brightly as she could, smoothed and worried at her dress and told him of the wonderful things they had done, the cards and the cake, and left out the part when an Ainu had stolen away her Tyelko.

* * *

When Nolofinwe was at last announced and came stumbling in not moments after, Irissë had offered her prowess to proof-read minister Aldingion's letter to the Master of Grain and placed drawn kitty-cats along the edges of it for him and co-signed with her swirliest, curliest handwriting.

So much work done already, she felt very accomplished and preened under her grandfather's sincere and endless praise.

"Apologies for the delay,” Nolofinwe called and storked long-gaited over polished floor towards the table and all those assembled, “I am here!"

"Peace, dear one, please," Finwë told him, “There is no need to rush, I assure you.”

Her poor atya, all flustered at being late. A lady, again, did not blab but she knew that he got so nervous when everyone assembled was already sitting. Not one to let her father (and benefactor, naturally) suffer needless unease, she climbed from his chair and made to meet him halfway. Purely out of concern, most certainly. The fact that he could be intercepted and given orders --that sounded so impolite-- requests, much faster.

And had she not done her part and saved those assembled from terrible boredom? She certainly had and this called for a reward. Something like, say, having Oromë ordered to release Tyelko from his greedy, grubby, grabs?

 _That_ sounded like a good one.

Nolofinwe rounded the table, handed out assorted papers as he went, barely frazzled as he was, and found his way barred by a tiny princess. Not one to barrel over his daughter, he stopped, blinked and flicked his ears. His circlet, crooked but only slightly, moved and he righted it with one hand.

“Irissë, sweet little princess,” he sounded strained at that one but no less sincere and so Irissë was flattered all the same, “I had thought you with Tyelko.”

“No, that's alright. I need to ask you something, please?”

“Irissë...”

"It will only take a moment, honest!" A little more restraint, "I promise."

There was far too long a moment of hesitation. “Very well, a moment,” Nolofinwe said at last, turned around to the assembled, "Another moment, I apologise once more." With Finwë's blessing, Nolofinwe rushed out again, looking rather more like a very nervous deer than anything resembling a tall elf-lord and went to shoo Irissë out, all the while trying not to get her underfoot even as he hurried hurried hurried along.

The antechamber was empty, a much different silence than the thoughtful ponder-thinking, forehead-wrinkling politeness that ruled Finwë's study when filled with elves. Here it was only the two of them. In body present at least. Nolofinwe appeared far away, still or again in the meeting a room over. Very impolite, was it so wrong to expect her father's attention? She cleared her throat twice and each time he wiggled his ears until finally he found her gaze.

“That was very nice of you to fill in for me,” Nolofinwe said and leaned closer. "Love, make this quick if you would."

She agreed, wholeheartedly, and so found it appropriate to bring fourth her request. Tried to. He cut her off after the miserable card game.

“I know of Tyelko and his apprenticeship; in fact, Fëanáro has done very little else but brag about that very fact." Blanching, as if gripped by a terrible realisation, "Please do not tell me you want to study under Oromë as well, Irissë, please. Your mother would have my head. He is a rough and loud sort; roguish. ” As if desperate to talk it out of her without outright forbidding it, grasping for straws and ears folding back "He does not take tea, for example." 

Which just showed that her mother was a sensible sort, really. If only she were here, Irissë had no doubt she could march up to Oromë herself and sort everything out with the furious grace of a Lady. “No,” Irissë said, torn from her thoughts as her father began shifting, looking ready to run off again.

“Then it needs to wait, Irissë, I'm sorry, I am needed.” And with that, her atya turned into Prince Nolofinwe. No nonsense, unshakable in his decisions.

“Atya--!” She crossed her arms and knew that she had lost, because the Prince would never be swayed by wide eyes and pouting. It had not been the Prince Nolofinwe who had gotten her her kitten, after all.

He kissed her head, tried to, at least, nearly managed to get her eye and was off. The door slammed.

Irissë stomped her foot, knowing full well that nothing short of a truly tremendous temper tantrum would summon him back now. Left so alone with her impotent rage and her demands, she glowered terribly at the door and stormed off.

* * *

Arakáno, splayed out on his back, snored peacefully to himself and so could not be informed about the things that bothered Irissë which was truly a shame. Her brother was a patient listener, never interrupting. Turukáno came close, but he had these terribly annoying differing opinions and how could anyone stew in peace if he kept poking? Not that she could have talked to him in any case, he was gone, along with Findekáno, to do whatever it was they did at their grandparents.

But there was always her cat and she went to find the string with the feathers tied to one end.

Prince Nolofinwe would be needed to accomplish her goal but could not persuaded. Instead she would need to appeal to her father to aim all that princely influence to where she needed it.

Right at greedy Oromë, namely.

Her father could be wheedled, she was confident in that, for she had done so often in the past. For sleepovers and dresses and everything Irissë could ever hope and wish and dream for. Yes, this sounded like a plan. She would wait until dinner, however reluctantly. She had won and now she was made to wait.

And the answer would always be--

* * *

“...no?”

That was certainly not what she had wanted to hear. Not at all. Her dreams of a great and shiny prince turning away the Tyelko-stealer broke apart in glittering shards. “Well, why _not_?”

Dinner had not gone like Irissë would have wished for. Inevitable, really, for her mother was not here and how would there ever be order otherwise? She could hardly be expected to be responsible alone, even if the household had shrunk considerably for this meal. With her older brothers off to their grandparents and their mother right alongside them, they were down to only half the usual occupants.

But worst of all, instead of getting to make her case, atya was busy with fussy Arakáno. Irissë had counted on the fact that Arakáno was neither a very picky nor loud eater and she would therefore have her father's full and undivided attention. But now Arakáno made low raspberry sounds and pushed Nolofinwe's approaching hand away whenever the spoon came near enough. Perhaps something had spooked him, agitated him from his usual calm manner, and now he would not eat his mush without a fight.

Everything was just going wrong. All wrong.

Irissë did not rest her elbows on the table and so her chin plunked down on the wood without anything to hold it up.

Arakáno was yet too young for guffawing and so stared at his sister's spectacle with wide eyes.

Her father turned at the sound of his daughter bashing her head into the furniture and wagged his ears. Not simply to face her, which was polite, but also to hide the little bowl away from Arakáno until her little brother had forgotten all about it. Object permanence was not yet a skill Arakáno had mastered and what good fortune that was.

“Irissë, my littlest princess; What exactly would you have me do?” Nolofinwe asked and stirred Arakáno's food.

At least they were getting somewhere. Her father was well on his way to earn her forgiveness now and she rewarded him with a beatific smile. “Tell Oromë to not take Tyelko. Order him. Nicely.” As far as obvious conclusions were concerned, this was fairly high up the list. But she could not blame her poor, tired atya. Sometimes a Lady needed to help along a little, nudging here and there. Or shoving, as may be the case.

“Please.” No sense in being impolite, despite everything.

Nolofinwe yawned because it _had_ been a long, _long_ cycle of work and without Anairë, however well prepared she left the household in her absence, duties felt bottomless at times. He stretched and once done, leaned a little closer to his tiny princess. It would not do, after all, to appear distant when he had to break her heart.

“I have no power over the Ainur and their kind, Irissë. It would be like ordering the clouds to dance for my amusement. They do not heed our whims for no good reason.” Which was likely a blessing because when all else failed, the last hurdle to keep Fëanáro from his maddened whims was usually a stoic, unmoving Ainu.

The thought of clouds distracted Irissë for but a moment. It sounded like fun and was even more unfair that this was also deemed undoable, “But--!” How to convey to him that keeping her dear Tyelko was the highest of priority and best of reasons? With whom could she take tea the way she liked best? Who would help her over that slimy old log to cross their little river into the woods?

Her boring, weird brothers? Never. No one could compare to Tyelko. Ever.

“Irissë,” Nolofinwe said and spooned a bit of food into Arakáno's mouth which was met with quiet, thoughtful approval. Why, _this_ meal was far superior to that unpalatable crud from before and so he could indulge freely. “Irissë, my littlest princess,” he tried again when Irissë would not look at him, instead puffing up in angry defiance and swiftly failing.

"He would not live you any less," her atya said, proving once more that, despite all his qualities, he was a bit of an idiot. That was alright, she loved him regardless, even if he was a careless oaf now and again.

“Of course not!" She agreed with all the endless conviction appropriate. "He would _never_!”

“Then I do not see--”

“Oromë did not _work_ for him! That's not _fair_! We hunted frogs together and _everything_!” And if _that_ did not cement friendship, what did? Throwing him out of their treehouse? Because she had done that too. And then apologised. And the bugs. All of them. And then some Ainu had come in, let Tyelko play with the stag he hauled around and what? That was it? He had done nothing of worth, not even hunted bugs. “He just wandered in and _stole_ him.”

“Have you tried telling Tyelkormo that?” Because clearly her father knew nothing, could not understand the weight behind the entire, miserable matter.  
  
Her anger faltered, stumbled like someone falling down the stairs. Tyelko had been so happy when he had told her. She loved seeing him happy. “No...” Because the surest way to ruin it for him was to come in and demand him to stop. She did not want to ruin anything for him, not Tyelko. But she wanted to keep him, too. Why would no one help her?

And her father did not understand.

Arakáno, by now fully won over by this new and wholly different meal, flapped eager arms towards his father, peeping hungrily. The food was delectable and therefore all was well with the world once more. Pleased noises came from his side of the table and Nolofinwe busied himself fully with Arakáno.

“I am certain,” her father comforted, smiled, spoke gently, wholly and unfoundedly optimistic, “That you will figure something out.” And that was that. She would have to fight her battle alone.

Irissë envied her younger brother, only for a little tiny bit, because his troubles were gone while she remained just as hopeless as she had been before. A little more than before, maybe. After a while, with Arakáno full and tired, Nolofinwe excused himself to put him to bed.

She was left behind, wondering, hopeless.

* * *

What now?

Bereft of allies, left to her own devices, what was a princess to do? She could hardly storm up to Oromë herself and tell him to stop. He was a tall and dog-scented brute, she was a very refined lady and also he could wield a far larger stick, should it ever come down to duel. Unfair. All the world had turned against her it seemed.

There was no one to do so on her behalf, no banner...prince in this case, to send out.

And in this moment she knew that she would do battle on her own with a surety that surprised herself. 

Her cat, who had so far not offered any viable nor helpful advice, followed with proudly raised tail when Irissë made her way to her desk, to pull out a sheet of paper that smelled of peaches and the blue ink she favoured above all others.

Now then, how _did_ one address a letter to a Vala?


End file.
